


Don't You Want Pancakes, Mattie?

by AmableAngel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Cancer, FACE Family, Family Feels, M/M, thats the main focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmableAngel/pseuds/AmableAngel
Summary: Everything's going well. Maybe too well.





	Don't You Want Pancakes, Mattie?

**Author's Note:**

> *insert usual disclaimer stuff*
> 
> Enjoy, my dudes.

It was a bright Saturday morning and twelve year old Alfred was jumping on his brother’s bed excitedly. “Mattie! Wake up!” 

“No. Go away.” Dejected, Alfred frowned and got off the bed. His face lit up as he came up with an idea. “I have pancakes.” 

“No.” Alfred looked in confusion at his brother. Pancakes always worked. Even on Matthew’s worst days, they never failed to work. 

“Okay, bye.” He slid off the bed and plodded to the kitchen. “Hey, Dad. Hey, Papa.” His parents, Arthur and Francis sat at the table, sipping their respective drinks. For Arthur, it was tea. For Francis, it was coffee. 

“Hello, dear. Where’s Matthew?” Francis asked, pulling Alfred into a hug. He shrugged and pointed to the bedroom. “He’s not getting up. Even when I told him there were pancakes.”

“I’m sure he’s just tired,” Arthur said, casting a glance at Francis.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Alfred’s face lit up when he saw scrambled eggs on the table. “Ooh! Eggs! Thanks, Papa!”

“Well, how do you know that I made them?” Francis asked, taking a gulp of his coffee.

“Dad’s cooking sucks, that’s why,” Alfred said matter-of-factly, as he put some bread in the toaster and piled the eggs on his plate. 

“Am I really that bad?” Arthur asked. 

“Yup.” 

“Wow, real nice. And just so you know, little man, I  _ am  _ good at cooking.” 

Alfred shrugged as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. “Whatever you say.”

Francis chuckled and smiled. Everything was well.

 

It was twelve o’clock and Matthew still hadn’t woken up. It was late, even by his standards. Arthur approached his door and pushed it open. “Matthew?”

No response. He walked in and saw that there was a lump lying underneath the blankets. “What do you want, Dad?” a voice mumbled. 

“It’s twelve. Have you been sleeping all this time?”

Matthew bolted up. “It’s twelve?! I was supposed to meet Juan at eleven!”

“Well, go. But first eat something.”

“Not hungry,” he said as he threw off the covers. As Matthew bustled around the room, Arthur closed the door and went back to the study. 

An odd sense washed over him, as if something bad was about to happen. Arthur shook it off and resumed his work. 

 

“Juan! Sorry I’m late!” Matthew rushed into the children’s section of the library to find his best friend sitting in an armchair, reading a book. 

“Oh, hey. No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you had a reason.” Juan gave a smile and walked over to the row of computers lining the wall. Sitting down, he opened up a browser. “We should probably get started on the project. Any ideas?” 

“Well, we could--” Matthew started when Juan interrupted him while pointing at his neck. “Wait. What’s that thing on your neck?” 

Matthew reached up and felt the base of his neck. There was a swollen lump, and when he touched it, a bolt of pain shot through his body. He winced and said, “I’m sure it’s just allergies, or something.”

Juan frowned, not buying it, said, “Promise me that you’ll tell your dads when you get home.”

“Promise.”

They resumed the project and almost finished it by the time two hours were up. Matthew glanced down at his watch. “Crap. I have to go. I said I’d be back by 2:30.” 

“Okay. I’ll take care of the rest. Bye.” Juan waved goodbye, and resumed typing on the computer. 

 

Matthew did not keep his promise. He had forgotten all about it, when Alfred had tackled him with a hug with the energy of a golden retriever when he spotted Matthew walking back.

“Mattie! Wait, are you okay? You look a bit pale.” Alfred grabbed him by the shoulders. 

He brushed Alfred off. “I’m fine. I think I’m just a bit hungry.”

“Oh, good. Well, Papa made lunch. Also, Papa and Dad left to do shopping and stuff.”

Nodding, Matthew opened the front door and pulled his shoes off. He felt a chill, so he kept his jacket on. Walking into the kitchen, he smelled something nice wafting through the air. 

Alfred pulled out a bowl and spooned some soup into the bowl. “Here you go!” He held out the bowl and Matthew took it with a gracious smile on his face. He sat down at the table and began slurping down his lunch.

His twin sat down next to him, in a likewise manner. “Mattie? Why didn't you take off your jacket?”

“I was just cold,” he responded. Alfred shrugged and continued eating his soup. 

The minutes passed in silence. Matthew got up from his seat and gently placed his empty bowl in the sink with a  _ clink. _

“Al? I'm going to go lie down for a bit. I'm a little tired.”

“M’kay. Wait, come here.” Alfred placed a hand on his brother's forehead, assessing the temperature. He swatted it away. “I’m fine, Al.”

“Whatever you say.”

Matthew shuffled off to his and Alfred's room and plopped down on the pillow. His old stuffed polar bear, Kumajiro stared at him with black, beady, plastic eyes. Matthew claimed he hadn't slept with the bear since he was five, but he always pulled it out whenever he was sick or scared. He grabbed Kumajiro's arm and pulled it towards him. Tucking the bear under his arm, the small boy drifted off to sleep.

 

Arthur felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw that it was the home number calling him. He accepted the call and placed the phone against his ear. 

“Dad? It's Al.”

“Yeah, why'd you call?”

“Um, Mattie's sick, I think. I checked his forehead, and it was really hot. He's sleeping right now, though.”

“Okay, we're coming.” Arthur quickly ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. The foreboding sense that had ran through him this morning was returning.

“Oy! Francis! We have to go! I think Matthew has a fever,” he called out, grabbing his husband's hand and pulling him out of the store.

 

Matthew was, indeed, sick. He did not come to school the following Monday, or the day after. Juan bit his lip and stared at the clock. 3, 2, 1--  _ brrrring!  _ The shrill sound of the bell pierced the air and Juan jumped up, grabbing his books. 

He ran all the way, not to his apartment, but to Matthew's apartment instead, which was two floors above. Out of breath, he paused in front of the front door, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. 

“You know you could've just asked me where he was. We live in the same place.” Juan's head turned at the sound of Alfred's steely voice. 

“Well, yeah, I could. But I really don’t have a chance to talk to you during school,” Juan said, glaring at Alfred. The two were not on the best terms, and disliked each other very much. 

“Whatever. Mattie’s sick, by the way. For the whole weekend. Do you want to give him the grade for the project you guys did?” He shrugged as if to say  _ yeah  _ as Alfred fished out a key from his pocket and opened up the door. 

“Hi, Dad!” Alfred called out, dumping his backpack near the kitchen table and grabbing a bag of popcorn from the pantry. 

“Hello, Alfred and… Juan? Did you want to see Matthew?” He nodded and stood up. Following Arthur, Juan headed Matthew’s room. 

“Mr. Arthur? I actually had a question for you.”

He turned around with an uncharacteristically kind smile. “What is it?”

“Did Mattie tell you about the lump that was on his neck?”

“Er, no.”

“Well, anyways, there was a lump at the base of Mattie’s neck and when he touched it, he winced like it hurt a lot. I’m just saying, I thought it might be something you might want to know.”

Arthur nodded curtly. “Thank you, Juan. I will speak about it with Matthew. He should be back in school tomorrow, since I think the fever’s breaking.”

The knot of worry in the pit of Juan’s stomach loosened a bit. It was just a lump, he told himself. 

 

Arthur climbed into bed with a sigh. It had been a long day, full of worry. Yet a thought kept nagging him. The thing that Juan had told him, about the lump. 

It was probably nothing, but it worried him to no end. And it also wasn’t normal to have a fever for four straight days. In the past, Matthew’s fevers had only lasted a maximum of two days. “Francis?” he asked, turning to face his husband. 

“Hmm?” he mumbled. 

“I think we should take Matthew to the hospital tomorrow. There’s that weird lump that I told you about and the fever.”

“Oui, I was going to ask you about th--”

“PAPA!” A screech came from Matthew and Alfred’s room. Francis bolted out of the bed and ran towards the sound, Arthur trailing close behind. 

“Matthew! Mon cher! What’s wrong?” Francis kneeled down by Matthew. Alfred was looking down with a worried expression from the top bunk. His teeth were clenched together and fear filled his eyes. 

“PAPA! It hurts!!” Matthew clutched his stomach and tears were streaming down his face. Panic began to rise in Francis’s gut. 

“Hospital. Now,” Arthur stated, grabbing Matthew’s coat and handing it to Francis. He nodded and carried Matthew with both arms, who was shaking with sobs and groaning in pain. 

“Al, put on your coat.” Alfred was still sitting on his bunk, frozen in fear, both hands still resting on the railing. Arthur’s stern voice brought him back to reality. As if in a trance, he climbed down and put on his coat. Gripping his father’s hand, Alfred walked to the hospital in absolute terror. 

 

Francis tapped his foot impatiently. The doctors had said they were just going to run some tests, yet they had been in there for almost an hour. Arthur rested his head in his hands in distress. Alfred sat next to him, eyes blank. He’d been staring at the wall for the whole time he had been here. 

Finally,  _ finally,  _ a male nurse with silvery-blonde hair and soft violet eyes came out of the room. “Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland?” 

Both Arthur and Francis jumped up. “Yes? What is it?”

“The doctor will be out in a few minutes to speak with you. If you need anything, just ask.” He gave a warm smile. 

“Thank you…?”

“My name’s Tino.”

“Thank you very much, Tino.” 

A few minutes passed, and then the doctor came out of the room. “Misters Bonnefoy-Kirkland? I’d like to speak with both of you.” His nametag read Dr. Bondevik. 

Both Arthur and Francis approached the doctor. “What’s going on? Is Matthew okay?” Desperation filled their voices. 

Dr. Bondevik sighed. “You may want to sit down.”

 

The ugly word swirled around Francis’s brain.  _ Lymphoma. Lymphoma. Lymphoma.  _ It was a never-ending cycle. He had protested, insisting that Matthew was entirely healthy, there was no way he could just suddenly have lymphoma. The doctor was straight-faced the whole time, even while announcing that Matthew would have to stay at the hospital for a while, since they needed to start the treatment right away. They hadn’t even been able to see Matthew. He was still denying it. There was no way his little baby boy had cancer. He should’ve been out there, playing hockey, laughing with his friends, living life just like a twelve year old should. 

Francis’s legs felt weak as he settled into the cab, with Alfred holding his hand, apparently still in the state of shock. Arthur sat down next to him, saying nothing. The silence on the five minute ride back home was filled with tension. 

Arthur shrugged off his jacket as they entered the apartment and went to the bedroom without another word. Francis tucked Alfred back into bed with a smile, and joined his husband. 

“He’ll be fine, right?” Arthur asked, wrapping an arm around Francis’s shoulder. 

“Right.” Hopeful words, but neither of them were feeling very hopeful. 

 

Alfred had not spoken since the incident that had happened ten hours ago. He just kept looking at Matthew’s spot at the table and back to his own cereal. Moving his spoon around in the soggy mess, he narrowed his eyes at the clock. His eyes widened and he grabbed his backpack. Alfred was almost out the door when he felt a hand on his back. “Nuh-uh, little man. Do you want to go to school?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded vehemently and struggled to break free of his father’s grip. 

“Only if you say goodbye,” Arthur insisted. He rolled his eyes and waved goodbye. “Nope.”

Alfred internally groaned. He grabbed a sheet of paper lying nearby and a pencil.

_ If I start talking, I think I’m going to start crying,  _ the scrawling handwriting read. Arthur nodded and gently pushed his son out the door. 

“We’ll finish talking later.”

 

Several days passed. History class, the last class of the day. The strict teacher, Mr. Zwingli, was droning on and on. Alfred tuned him out. Not a single word had escaped his lips the whole three days since that fateful night, though it had raised a couple questions from his friends, Kiku and Toris. Alfred stared at the clock, willing it to go faster.

“ … Alfred? What did I just ask?” Alfred snapped to attention to find Mr. Zwingli glaring at him. 

_ Crap.  _ He pointed to his throat and shook his head. 

“You're not going to talk? Too bad. You're telling us the answer to the question.” The teacher crossed his arms and look Alfred straight in the eyes.  _ No way out. _

Hesitantly, Alfred managed a wobbly “I wasn't listening.” His voice quivered and shook, on the verge of tears. 

The class tittered and whispers flew around the room. It was too much. Tears began leaking out the corners of his eyes and he ran out of the room, into the bathroom.

 

_ Why? Why Mattie?  _ The thought of his brother lying in a hospital bed with machines attached to him made his heart sink. Fresh tears budded up in his eyes and he wiped them away.

“Alfred?” His head snapped up. Kiku.

“I'm in here,” he whispered. Alfred opened the door to see his normally stone-faced friend standing there, with a concerned expression on his face. 

“You okay?” Kiku held out a packet of tissues and Alfred took them gratefully. He blew his nose with a big honk. 

“I think I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Toris asked, walking into the bathroom.

“I don’t think I can really explain right now.” His voice was still in a whisper. Toris laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and said, “We get it. Listen, class ends in five minutes. So just hang out here. I’ll tell Mr. Zwingli that you went to the nurse’s office.”

Alfred sniffed and nodded, his nose still bright red. “Thanks, guys.” Kiku nodded and Toris smiled. A couple seconds passed before the sentimental moment was ruined by the bell ringing above them. “Guess I was wrong,” Toris chuckled. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

At that moment, another person walked into the bathroom. “Alfred?” Juan. Alfred internally groaned.  _ I really don’t want to deal with him.  _

“Um, I was coming in here to go to the bathroom, but I actually needed to talk to you,” Juan said, very little animosity in his voice. He fidgeted with his nails. Alfred was confused, but said, “Yeah, what?”

“Is Matthew in the hospital?”

Kiku and Toris shot Alfred worried looks. His heart rate accelerated. There was no way… unless he heard. Juan lived only two floors below them, so he definitely heard the yelling that night. Alfred took a deep breath. “Yeah.” Juan’s eyes widened. Maybe he was able to read the pleading in Alfred’s eyes, but he didn’t press the matter further. 

“Can I come with you to see him later?” he asked. Alfred shrugged. “Why not?”

 

Francis opened up the door and walked into his home. He had gotten off early from his job and was greeted by the sight of his husband sitting at the table and drinking tea. 

“Hello, mon cher.” He swooped down to give Arthur a kiss on the cheek. A gagging sound came from the hallway near the bedrooms and Francis saw Alfred pretending to stick a finger down his throat. 

“Gross!” 

“So, you’re talking now?” he asked, giving Alfred a hug. He nodded and pointed to the door. “Let’s go now? I wanna see Mattie.” The shock from that night had apparently worn off and Alfred was back to his normal self, just slightly dampened. 

Arthur looked over to his youngest son, a little bit confused. Alfred hadn’t wanted to see Matthew, since he said he didn’t want to see his brother in that state. Arthur and Francis had been back to the hospital everyday, talking to their oldest son. Trying to seem as if everything was fine, but Matthew had kept asking where Alfred was. Every time they had had to come up with some other excuse. Matthew’s face had fallen and a sad smile appeared on his face. 

Alfred was laughing and smiling. It was as if he was trying to deny that any of this was happening. He guessed that the child’s philosophy was that if he ignored it, it wasn’t happening. Arthur stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, we have to take Juan too.”

“Okay.” The walk to the hospital was filled with incessant chatter, mainly coming from Alfred. Juan nodded along, inserting his own comment every now and then. 

 

Matthew sat in his hospital bed, in an uncomfortable position. His dad had been there earlier in the day, with some pancakes. He didn’t remember much of that visit, since the doctors had given him a painkiller that turned his brain into a mushy goop. Matthew still didn’t quite understand what was going on. One minute, he was in his papa’s arms at home, and the next, he was in a hospital, getting strange drugs pumped through him. He had heard Papa and Dad whispering when they thought he was asleep, but he caught one word from their hushed conversation. “Cancer.”

His ears perked up at a familiar voice right outside the door. No, make that  _ two  _ familiar voices. The door swung open and there stood Alfred and Juan. 

“Al! Juan!”

“Hi, Mattie!” Alfred launched himself at his brother and began chatting his ear off. Juan stood awkwardly off to the side. His eyes widened as he took in the IVs around Matthew and all the different machines attached to him.  _ What?!  _ Juan’s eyes flicked back to Matthew. 

He was so healthy! But… the lump. That was probably it. His heart felt like lead. 

The rest of the visit was the three of them catching Matthew up with what was happening in school, and the newest gossip. “Apparently, Ludwig Beilschmidt was caught kissing Feliciano Vargas!” Alfred had relayed that piece of information with relish and an evil grin. “Everyone knew they liked each other. It was so obvious.” The three of them chatted and laughed, as if nothing was wrong. 

 

The months wore on. Time passed quickly, and the tension in the Bonnefoy-Kirkland household grew. Alfred had caught his parents arguing in the kitchen, after he was supposed to have gone to sleep. He had gotten up to use the bathroom and heard angry voices in the kitchen. Poking his head through the kitchen door, he saw his dad and papa sitting at the table, with papers that had numbers all over them. 

“We don’t have any money! What are we going to do?”  _ Dad’s voice.  _

“Well, what do you want me to do?! We can barely take care of Alfred as is  _ and  _ pay the hospital bills. I could take on a second job…” Francis’s voice trailed off. 

Arthur groaned and put his head down on the table. “No, you can’t do that; you already work too many hours. Ugh, I feel so useless. I don’t have a single skill.”

“Don’t put it on yourself,” Francis said softly. 

“Can I ask you a question? How the hell do you stay so calm?! Our child is in the hospital with a bad outlook, we’re on the verge of poverty, and you still keep that same goddamn smile!” Arthur snapped. 

Francis drew back. “Artie, calm down.”

“No, I will not!” he yelled and stood up. 

“I’m terrified! I’m so scared that Matthew’s going to die! I have never been more fearful in my entire life. Every night, I just lay there, thinking how unfair it is for my son to be sleeping in a hospital with machines attached to him, while I’m sleeping in my own comfy bed with my loved ones around me!!” Francis roared back. 

“STOP!” Alfred cried out. Both of their heads turned towards the boy, who was trembling with a petrified look on his face. 

“Just stop. Please,” he whispered. Arthur walked over remorsefully to Alfred and pulled him into a hug, all previous anger forgotten. 

“We’re sorry. Very.”

“It was scary. Don’t do that again, please.” Alfred leaned into Arthur’s chest and started crying. “Is Matthew going to die?” he asked. Arthur inhaled sharply. 

Francis hesitated just a bit too long. “No, mon cher, of course not. In fact, you can help him get better by keeping him happy. You’re the hero, remember?”

Alfred sniffled and looked up. “That’s right. I’m the hero.” His face brightened a bit. “Thanks, Papa.” He shuffled off to his bedroom and climbed up onto his bunk. His happy demeanor crumpled as he hit the pillow. 

Tears began leaking out the corner of his eyes and staining the pillow. Quietly sobbing, the child cried himself to sleep.

 

The next day at school, Kiku noticed something was off about Alfred. Of course, everything had been going wrong. After finding out Matthew had cancer, Kiku wondered how Alfred was even able to bear smiling and laughing anymore. 

But today was different. It was as if Alfred was physically there, but not mentally. Kiku opened up his locker and pulled out his lunchbox. Walking to the lunchroom, he sat down across from Toris, whose locker was closer to the cafeteria. Several minutes passed, and they chatted, but Alfred had not yet showed up. 

“Did he have an early dismissal?” Kiku asked, taking a bit of his sandwich. 

“No, I don’t think so. I saw him last period,” Toris answered. The bell rang mere seconds later, signifying the end of the lunch shift. 

Walking down the hallway, Kiku heard a weird sound coming from one of the empty classrooms near the wing of the school that wasn’t used anymore. Someone was crying-- very loudly, at that too. 

His curiosity getting the better of him, Kiku pushed open the door tentatively and gasped. “Alfred?”

He had his knees curled up against his chest and his body was shaking with sobs. It was an ugly sound that wrenched Kiku’s heart out of his chest. 

Most people say that Kiku had no emotions, but if someone he cared about was in pain, he would do everything in his power to help them. 

“Kiku?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, Al, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“No. Mattie’s dying and I can’t do anything about it. Papa and Dad keep arguing because they don’t have enough money left. I’m the hero, Kiku. The hero! I’m supposed to help people, and here I am crying.” The cries resumed and Alfred became a mess of tears and snot. Kiku dug out the tissues from his bag and held it out to him.

“Everything will be fine, okay? You have to be strong for Matthew,” Kiku said, placing a hand on Alfred’s back. 

He blew his nose with a honk. “No, it’s not. You haven’t seen him. Everyday, he gets more pale, more skinnier, and his hair is completely gone now!”

Kiku wasn’t sure how to respond. Most of his comforting advice was simply saying, “Everything will be fine.” He didn’t want to bring his personal problems into this, especially pertaining to this topic. However, it sort of slipped out unintentionally. 

“I knew--know someone who had cancer,” Kiku said, regretting his decision as soon as the words exited his mouth.  _ Why did you bring that up?! _

“Really?” he asked, lifting his head up. 

“Yeah. He said that he felt better in the hospital with just his family rooting for him to get better. He made them have hope, since he said that that would make him healthy. So, just have hope, okay? Have hope that Matthew will get better.”

“Did he live?”

“Dummy. I said I  _ know _ , not  _ knew _ . He’s still alive and kicking.” Kiku smiled brightly, just a bit artificial.

Alfred gave a forced, watery smile. “Okay. Thanks, Kiku!” He hoisted himself up, holding Kiku’s hand for support. “Guess we should get back to class,” he said. 

“Yeah.” Kiku felt odd. He had known Alfred for almost his entire life, yet he had never opened up like that.  _ Well, it doesn’t even count as opening up. You lied. Leon’s six feet under, and has been since you were six.  _

 

_ The pallbearers lowered the coffin into the ground. The six year old had enough sense to know that his brother was in that big box.  _

_ “Sister? Where's Leon going?” Kiku tapped on his sister's arm. Xiao Mei looked the six year old with a sad smile. _

_ “Leon is leaving for a while. But you'll see him soon, don't worry.” _

 

Kiku rolled his eyes at the memory. He was so naive and understood so little of the world. A tap on the shoulder from Alfred brought him back to the present. 

“Kiku? You okay? You kinda zoned out.” He looked at Kiku in concern, even though he was still in pretty bad shape. Alfred’s nose was as bright as Rudolph’s and his face was splotchy. 

“Yes, I'm fine.” The two walked back to class, one haunted by the past, one by the present. 

 

Fighting to keep his eyes open, Matthew looked up at the doctor. “Doctor Bondevik?” The words came out slightly slurred, given all the painkillers Matthew was under. 

“Hm?”

“Why did you become a doctor?”

A pause. Seconds passed. “I became a doctor because someone I knew died of cancer. He was only seventeen.” The doctor’s voice was filled with a trace of rare emotion. 

“Who?”

“His name was Leon Wang. He was my brother’s… boyfriend. I saw the look on Emil’s-- that’s my brother-- face at the funeral and I told myself that I’d do everything in my power to make sure no one was ever that grief-stricken.” Matthew was silent. “Sorry, that was probably a bit too much,” Doctor Bondevik said. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m going to become a doctor too, when I grow up, just like you!” 

“Nice!” Doctor Bondevik patted Matthew’s head in an uncommon show of affection. “Er, I’m going to go talk to your parents, okay?” 

“Okay. G’night.” Matthew nodded off to sleep as Dr. Bondevik switched off the lights.  _ I said I’d do everything to make sure people are never sad, but I don’t know how much longer I can do this.  _

 

Francis sat frozen. Similar to the day when he found out his beloved Matthew had cancer, but this one was much worse. His entire world was crashing down. 

All the chemotherapy, all the procedures. It had all been for nothing.

“Nothing’s working; the cancer has spread to his brain,” Doctor Bondevik had said with a straight face, hands folded across his lap. 

He wanted to throw his chair at the calm Norwegian doctor’s face. He wanted to scream. There was no way that his baby was going to die. 

“He’s only twel--” Francis was cut off by his husband’s quivering voice. 

“Can we take him home?” Arthur asked. 

“Yes, you may.”

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. He turned towards Francis, whose eyes were threatening to spill over with tears. 

“C’mon, let’s go see Matthew.” He clutched his hand and the two parents went to see their oldest son. 

 

Alfred sat on the couch with Kiku, playing Mario Kart. The sound of the door opening drew his attention away from the screen and he pressed pause. 

“Hey, Dad! Hey, Papa…? Why is Mattie here?” Fear laced Alfred’s voice at seeing his older twin standing in the doorway in a wheelchair. Matthew gave a wave and a thin smile. He was as frail as an old woman and it seemed as if a slightly strong breeze could blow him away. A baseball cap was perched on his head to hide the lost hair, though it wasn’t really helping. 

“You don’t want to see me?” Matthew asked, a grin in his voice. 

“Of course I want to see you, but you should be in the hospital… unless…” Alfred’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened in horror. “No,” he breathed. 

Arthur placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. He jerked away and ran out the door. Kiku looked awkwardly at the three people before following Alfred out the door. 

Alfred sprinted and dashed away from everything. He just kept running and running. To where, he didn’t know, but anywhere but here. If he was lucky, he might just go fast enough to rip a hole in space to get to an alternate universe, one where his brother wasn’t going to die. 

After seemingly hours of running, he collapsed on a bench. Looking up, Alfred noticed he was Central Park. To be more precise, his and Kiku’s meeting spot. The sun was warm on his face and a bird chirped cheerfully. He wanted to scream at the bird, and say that it had no right to be singing so happily, when his brother was dying. 

But he didn’t. Alfred let all the emotion drain away, becoming stone-still. 

 

Lagging behind, Kiku was trying to keep track of Alfred’s caramel hair as he was running through the crowd. Unfortunately, Kiku lost him. Sighing in frustration, he sat down on the curb, trying to think.  _ If I were Alfred, where would I go?  _ An idea popped into his head. Kiku grinned and dashed off to Central Park. 

Running the whole way, he found Alfred sitting against a tree trunk, facing the street. “Al.”

He turned towards his friend. Surprisingly, Alfred wasn’t crying. His face was set into a mask of ice, with no emotion.

“What do you want? Did they send you after me?” he asked in a steely tone. Kiku was taken aback. 

“No, of course not! I came by myself.” Kiku crouched down, placing himself next to his best friend. “Listen. I absolutely cannot imagine what you’re going through.”  _ Yes, I can.  _ “All I’m saying is, if you need me, I’m right here. Okay?”

“Thanks, Kiku,” Alfred mumbled. “It means a lot.” Kiku nodded and the two sat in silence, looking at the setting sun. 

 

Juan looked at the door. The name “Bonnefoy-Kirkland” was no longer present next to it. Puzzled, he glanced around. Spotting a nurse named Tino that he had seen taking care of Mattie behind a desk, Juan walked over to him. 

“Mr. Tino?” The man looked up with soft violet eyes. 

“Yes?”

“Um, could you tell me where Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland’s room is? It was here before, but I can’t seem to find it.” Tino glanced at the man next to him nervously, a scary looking guy with the nametag reading, “Berwald.” The man pressed his lips together and shrugged imperceptibly. Turning his attention back to Juan, Tino spoke. 

“You’re Matthew’s friend, right? I’ve seen you around. Well, he’s not here anymore. He went…  home.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Juan responded, not understanding what Tino was trying to say. As he was walking out of the hospital, the realization hit him. It crashed into him like a tidal wave and Juan stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. After a few seconds of people jostling him, Juan broke into a run and sprinted all the way to his apartment building. 

Pausing at Matthew’s door to knock, he attempted to catch his breath. A couple seconds passed before the door opened, revealing Francis’s face. Usually, there was a kind smile on his face. Today, there was none. 

“Hi, Mr. Francis. Is Matthew here?” he asked. Francis nodded grimly. Juan’s heart sunk. So it was true. 

“Can I see him?” 

“Yes.” Francis swung the door open, and Juan stepped in. His first sight was his best friend in a wheelchair and a clamping in the back of his throat began. 

“Hi, Mattie,” he choked out. Mattie turned around and gave a wave. “Hey, Juan. Been a while.” No words came out of the Cuban boy's mouth, and he rushed over and gave Matthew a hug. Tears were spilling out, haphazardly, but he didn't care. 

“You're going to leave me,” he managed to say though the sobbing. 

“Sshhh. Yes, I'm going to have to.” Matthew awkwardly patted Juan's head. 

“But I don't want you to.”

“I know. I don't want to leave either, but I have to.” Juan did not respond, the tears clogging his throat. The two friends sat like that for quite some time, enjoying each other's company. 

 

Time passed. Matthew had been moved to a separate room, so he wouldn’t be sharing a room with Alfred. He was restricted to his bed, being too weak to move his wheelchair everywhere he had to go. During this time, Alfred was at his bedside nearly all the time, as were his parents. 

“Hey, Mattie. You awake?” he asked, one day, approaching the bed. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, Mother’s Day is coming up, and I thought it would be funny to give Dad a card, y’know since he’s kind of the mom.” Alfred gave a chuckle. Matthew shrugged. “Yeah, that’d be kinda funny. Do you have the card?”

“Yup.” Alfred reached into his backpack and pulled out a slightly rumpled card with a small crease along the bottom.

“Just sign here; I wrote the stuff already.” Producing a pen, Matthew signed his name in small, tight cursive. “There.” A satisfied grin curved on his thin face. 

 

Saturday. The day before Mother’s Day. Alfred woke up on the top bunk, a strange feeling in his chest. He tiptoed to Matthew’s room to say good morning and pulled open the curtains. The sun poked its rays into the room, and even those seemed bleached.  

“Good morning, Mattie! Today we need to decide what present to get Dad.” No response. Alfred turned around to see Matthew lying still in his bed.  _ No, no, no.  _ A stone sunk in his stomach. His heart sped up and his palms started sweating profusely. 

His eyes glanced over Matthew’s chest. No rise or fall. No more pale pink cheeks or tiny grin. No more Matthew. 

He screamed at the top of his lungs and shook his brother by the shoulders. “DON’T YOU WANT PANCAKES, MATTIE?!” The sobs flowed freely, without abandon. “I-I made them for you already…” he trailed off, the words clamping and choking him. 

Alfred crumpled to the ground and began sobbing tears of mourning. He cried until he could no more. 

 

Arthur stood on the cold, wet grass in the evening of the following Monday. A small wooden box was being lowered slowly into the ground. 

He had not cried when his oldest son cried out in pain on that fateful night. He had not cried when they found out Matthew had lymphoma. He had not cried when he found Alfred sobbing over a dead body at nine o’clock on a cloudy Saturday morning. 

But just seeing his Matthew inside a coffin,  _ where he absolutely should not be,  _ made Arthur’s heart snap. He dropped down to his knees and tears began falling out of his eyes like they never had. His pants were going to get wet, but he didn’t give a damn about that. 

Matthew was dead and there was nothing in the whole world he could do about it. Nothing. 

 

Juan looked over at Alfred, who was hunched over on a bench. He walked over to him and sat down next to Alfred. Not knowing how to comfort someone who had just lost their twin brother, he placed a hand on Alfred’s back. For once, he didn’t show a negative reaction to Juan. They sat, the rain pattering down on the day that heaven gained a soul by the name of Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland. 

 

**Many years later…**

Alfred looked up at the imposing building in front of him and paused. A sense of… well, a mixture of sadness, pride and happiness filled him. It had taken years of hard work, but he had somehow gotten into the most prestigious medical school in the country. 

He took a deep breath and stepped towards the building. “This is for you, Mattie.” 

**Author's Note:**

> ha  
> ha  
> ha  
> please don't kill me I was in the mood for writing angst 
> 
> :)))
> 
> (Pleaseee tell me if I made any errors regarding the actual disease and how it works (or just like any errors in general lol). I just used google for the info, so please do tell me if something's wrong!)


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